


Darlin' It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter)

by seriousshit88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousshit88/pseuds/seriousshit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The McCall pack enjoys a nice day at the beach until a seaside prank goes a little too far...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darlin' It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter)

Scott rarely found himself faced with what he would call “perfect opportunities.” Usually, unexpected moments of divine charity ended in some horribly catastrophic way that left everyone reeling or crying. Or worse. He and his pack had been through hell. They were forced to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, and he, as their leader, carried more than anyone else. Sometimes, if he found a quiet moment to himself, Scott would try to remember what it was like to be normal, what it was like before their lives were turned upside down.

Today, though, Scott didn’t have to try too hard to remember. The perfect opportunity he was looking for had served itself up on a silver platter and lay topless on the beach towel beside him. This particular opportunity was snoring loudly from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, a hat that Lydia had been kind enough to give up for the day. Stiles had also been borrowing everyone else’s sunblock, and for someone who’s usually so prepared for a fight, so meticulously observant of other people and their motivations, Scott found it remarkable that his pain-in-the-ass boyfriend could forget the little things. Like how to  _not_ get sunburned at the beach.

Earlier that day, Kira and Scott went beachcombing near a small lagoon. He found two medium-sized fan-shaped shells and wanted to give them to his mother as a little souvenir when they got home. The outsides of the shells were dull grey, but the insides were opalescent and shimmered with a wide variety of shiny colors.

Scott placed a shell over each of Stiles’s nipples, gently enough to not wake him. Then he ran off to join Malia, Liam, and Mason and their impromptu frisbee toss down by the surf.

This opportunity was a teaching moment. And if there were any revenge elements to Scott’s  _teaching moment_ , then Stiles only had himself to blame for pushing him into a pool a week before.

***

Stiles woke pleasantly refreshed from his nap. He yawned and stretched; then he winced as stinging pain raced across his skin. Oh, no. How long had he been out?

After painfully, and carefully, taking the hat off his face, Stiles saw the sun was way lower in the sky than it had been when he fell asleep.

“Crap,” he said as he looked down to survey the sunburn damage. His skin was red, but not lobster red, which was good. He could deal with that. It still hurt like hell, but it wasn’t going to be agonizing to handle.

What  _wasn’t_  good was the feeling he got when he finally noticed the shells on his chest. He gingerly lifted up the edge of one and blinked dumbly at the perfectly scalloped demarcation between sunburned skin and pale, unblemished skin surrounding his nipple.

He lifted both shells.

“Jesus Chr-owww! Who the hell-fuck!” He swore and cringed as he scrambled off the towel and began looking for his friends. He and Scott had put their towel a little farther from everyone else’s for boyfriend purposes that were quickly abandoned when Scott started complaining about sand in his butt crack. So Stiles took a nap and let everybody else do whatever the hell they wanted. That turned out to be a huge mistake. He grabbed the towel and shells and marched up the beach.

On the walk back, Stiles was too angry to notice the other beachgoers looking at him in a mixture of pity and amusement.

The pack was gathered around the umbrella Lydia and Kira had been camping underneath since noon. It was apparently dinnertime, because Scott and Malia were busy grilling hot dogs and hamburgers on two little hibachis while Mason and Liam sorted through snacks and drinks in a cooler.

Lydia was the first to spot his angry approach. She lowered her sunglasses and smirked before pushing them back up her nose. “Guys, I think we have company.”

Malia looked up and immediately wrinkled her nose. “And he smells really, really pissed. I wonder what…” she trailed off when she saw his chest. “Oh, God.” By now, everyone could see why Stiles was so mad. Liam started laughing, which set off Mason. Everyone else just stared.

“Which one of you little shits did it?” Stiles asked through gritted teeth as he came to an abrupt halt in front of them. No one fessed up. “I know it was one of you. So whose shells are these?” He tossed the two shells onto the sand at their feet.

“They’re obviously yours,” Lydia said. “And might I say, the Little Mermaid look really works for you.” Everyone was laughing by now, and Stiles rolled his eyes. He tried not to wince too much when he (very angrily) put his hands on his hips.

“Haha, totally hilarious. You know what? You can all ride back home with Malia. I’m outta here.”

“Hey, wait,” Kira said. She picked up the shells and turned them over in her hands. “These look like the shells Scott found this morning.”

Everyone looked at Scott. He chuckled.

“Soooo,  _that’s_  where those went. I was looking all over for them. Thanks for finding them for me, babe,” Scott said, hoping Stiles would fall for the innocent act.

“Scott’s lying,” Liam said as he popped the tab on a root beer. “His heartbeat’s all over the place.” Scott shot him a withering glare, but it was obvious Liam only wanted to stir up shit just then. This was clearly entertaining for him.

Stiles’s face went blank. “Scott Alejandro Delgado McCall, would you care to join me for a quick chat?”

Scott gulped nervously at the use of his full name. “Where?”

“Away from witnesses.” Stiles said matter-of-factly

“Um, no, dude. Not really. Besides, the burgers might burn if you kill me before I can flip them.”

Stiles turned to Mason. “Flip the burgers. Scott’s coming with me.” He stalked off up the beach toward his Jeep.

“He’s done talking, I guess,” Scott said. “Be right back.” Grabbing a t-shirt out of his bag, Scott hurried after Stiles.

“Sorry!” Kira called after him. Scott smiled and waved her off.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Malia cleared her throat. “I’m gonna eat their burgers, if that’s okay with you guys.”

“How do you know they’re not coming back?” Mason asked.

“It’s Scott and Stiles,” Lydia said simply.

***

Scott caught up to Stiles just as he reached the Jeep. The parking lot was starting to empty now that most of the day was gone.

“Are you really mad?” Scott asked sincerely. Stiles yanked open the Jeep’s driver’s side door without a word. He cringed as a blast of hot furnace car air hit him and his tender skin. He closed the door and whirled on Scott.

“Yes, Scott. I’m really mad. Normally, I’d congratulate you on a prank well done. It was elegant in its simplicity. Good job, bro.” He attempted to clap sarcastically, but his stinging arms wouldn’t let him. Without saying a word, Scott tossed the t-shirt he was holding in his hand across his shoulder and gently pressed his fingertips to Stiles’s chest. As he syphoned away Stiles’s pain, he admired the two shell patterns situated neatly over the nipples just within reach. Tentatively, he brushed his thumbs over them. Stiles shivered.

“I think you look good,” Scott murmured. “It’s almost like I marked you, or something.”

“Scott…” Stiles warned. Color rose in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. He grabbed the belt loops of Scott’s low-slung cutoffs and tugged.They were standing out in the open in a parking lot, and of course, Scott would pick this exact moment to get horny.

Still drawing away pain, Scott kept his fingers on Stiles as he leaned in close to his ear. “This was supposed to be payback for you shoving me fully clothed into the pool last week at Lydia’s.” He nipped the shell of Stiles’s ear and felt the tiniest amount of triumph as he sensed Stiles’s arousal catching up to the proceedings. “But I seem to have gone about this all wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles breathed. “I think you got your revenge. You’re the embodiment of a sunkissed son of Poseidon rising from the waves of the Pacific, and I’m standing here looking like freakin’ Ariel.”

“Dude, Ariel was cute. I totally had a crush on her.”

“I know, Scott. I was there for the entire duration of your Disney Princess phase.”

“My  _point_ ,” Scott said, punctuating the word with a quick flick of Stiles’s nipples, causing Stiles to bite back a low groan, “is that they’ll fade eventually, and you can cover them with a shirt until then. It’ll be like those hickies I leave inside your thighs sometimes.” He pressed his forehead to Stiles’s and nuzzled gently at his nose. All it took for Stiles to cave was a small kiss.

Damn Scott and his adorable diversionary tactics.

Stiles, now that the sting of his sunburn was reduced to a tolerable level, immediately grabbed Scott’s wrist and started dragging him to the public men’s rooms at the edge of the parking lot.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Scott asked.

“You, in a few minutes,” Stiles said. 

Scott laughed. “Awesome.” 

Stiles held tight to Scott’s wrist as he pushed open the main bathroom door. Stiles made the barest of visual inspections before determining the place was empty. He led Scott to the wheelchair stall and pushed him through the door. After sliding the lock in place, he leveled a hungry gaze at Scott’s slightly disheveled appearance.

“We can’t do this in here,” Scott hissed. “What if someone needs to use this stall?”

“I can’t bend you over in the smaller stalls,” Stiles explained. “Besides, the beach is clearing out. We’re good, but only if we hurry.”

Scott lifted an eyebrow, asking the  _other_  obvious question. Stiles grunted and surged forward, pressing Scott’s back against the far wall of the stall. Looks like they were adding public bathroom sex to their repertoire. Scott returned the favor by capturing Stiles’s lips in a searing kiss. He slid his hands down the back of Stiles’s swim trunks and squeezed, drawing a surprised chuckle out of him.

“This is mine,” Scott said as he ground their hips closer, his breath hot against Stiles’s parted lips. The points of contact between their bare torsos sent tingling thrills through both of them. Scott felt how hard Stiles was and grinned.

“All yours,” Stiles agreed. He tipped Scott’s head back and kissed him deeper, slower. It was the kind of kiss he could feel deep in his stomach and down in his toes. Stiles caught a faint taste of strawberry soda on Scott’s tongue and briefly wondered if there would be any left for him when he got back.

It would have been impossible to slip even a sheet of paper in the space between their bodies, but he managed to pop the button on Scott’s shorts. He unzipped them and slid the fabric down just low enough to free Scott’s swelling cock.

Scott panted softly as the pressure lifted just a little.

“There he is,” Stiles whispered hoarsely. He made quick work of pulling Scott out of his pants. Stiles licked his palm and wrapped his fingers around Scott’s thickening girth. Precum was already beading on Scott’s slit. “Jesus, Scotty.”

“Maybe you’re a good kisser,” Scott said, just as hoarse.

“Maybe I’m a good everything,” Stiles countered.

“Hurry up,” Scott groaned as he nuzzled underneath Stiles’s chin, scenting him. He dragged his lips down Stiles’s  throat and began nursing the tender skin in the dip between his collar bones.

“Are you trying to give me a hickey? After what you did to my chest?” He jerked Scott’s dick just right.

Scott swore and shoved Stiles’s swim trunks down his thighs. He ground his crotch against Stiles, and Stiles got the message loud and clear. No time for hand jobs. Dry humping it was.

They kissed and rutted desperately against each other, both of them making more noise than they probably should have been. Stiles’s hands bracketed Scott’s slim waist as he thrust into the crook of Scott’s hip, and Scott never stopped kneading Stiles’s ass, spurring him on and meeting him thrust for sweaty thrust. It was hot, it was risky, and it was wonderful.

Stiles came first, which was no real surprise. He held Scott’s hips still as he gasped wildly, painting the negative space between their bare bellies white with hot cum. Euphoric pleasure cut through even the faint sting of his sunburn. He bucked once, twice, three times before pulling away from Scott.

Scott was about to ask what was going on, but Stiles spun him around to face the wall. A long time ago, during one of their first forays into sexy times, Stiles called this “assuming the position.” Scott made him promise to never, ever call it that again. But that didn’t mean he didn’t like it.

Scott put his hands on the wall for balance then spread his legs and let Stiles pull his hips and ass back far enough to bend him almost at a 90-degree angle. His butt was presented nice and high, and it would have been just the right height for Stiles to fuck him. But Scott knew that wasn’t going to happen, not without proper lube. He hoped that whatever Stiles had planned as an alternative was bound to be just as good.

Still loose-limbed and floaty from his orgasm, Stiles took a moment to admire the view. He traced a finger along the perfect tan line running low on Scott’s hips. It curved over the swell of his ass, and Stiles wanted to put his mouth on it. If he had the time, he’d pay extra attention to it, but he couldn’t. Not now. Maybe later, like when he could get Scott stretched out underneath him somewhere more comfortable. Yes, that was definitely going to happen.  

“I know how much you fucking love this, Scotty,” Stiles said, sinking to his knees. He spread Scott’s cheeks apart tantalizingly slow. Then he stopped.

Scott made a needy little pouting noise that shot straight to Stiles’s weary dick, and if he were three, maybe two years younger, that would have been more than enough to get his engines revved for round two. “Hold on,” Stiles said.

The sound of the running faucet only vaguely registered to Scott, but he yelped in shock as Stiles ran a cool, dampened cloth down his ass crack.

“You weren’t kidding about the sandy crack. Dude, how’d you get so much sand in here?”

“From earlier, when you thought fooling around on a  _sandy beach_  was a good idea.”

“They make it look so hot in the movies,” Stiles sighed. And disliking the fact that Scott could still form complete and coherent sentences, Stiles took that as his cue to get this party started. He threw the sandy paper towel somewhere in the vicinity of the trash can and dove face first into Scott’s now pristine ass.

Scott choked off a groan as Stiles licked around his rim. He rocked his ass back into Stiles’s face as Stiles finally stopped teasing and licked into Scott’s entrance.

“Mmm, yeah, dude…” Scott moaned. Getting rimmed wasn’t new for him, but getting rimmed while in a public bathroom was. The threat of being caught was an adrenaline rush Scott didn’t know he’d enjoy so much. His nerves practically sang, oversensitive and threatening to tip him over into something more primal.

Stiles tongue fucked him for longer than he expected to, yet he greedily ate Scott’s ass like it was the best cake he’d ever tasted. The involuntary sounds he licked out of Scott were nearly as delicious. He needed a bit  _more_ , though. Without any kind of warning, Stiles put a little pressure on Scott’s balls.

“Oh, God, Stiles, fuuuuck,” Scott whined.

Stiles hummed, sending vibrations deep into Scott, who couldn’t help but whimper at the sensation. His hands slipped a little on the wall, but he caught himself before he faceplanted onto the dirty bathroom floor.

“Careful,” Stiles said as he came up for air. “Speaking of careful…” he slipped a finger into Scott’s spit-sloppy asshole

The sound Scott made was nowhere near human. He trembled as Stiles slipped another finger into him, opening him up with delicious precision. By the time Stiles had a third finger in him, Scott thought he was going to die. It wasn’t as slick as he’d have preferred, but it was more than good enough. Precum drooled from his cock in a steady, viscous stream as he fucked himself on Stiles’s fingers. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sounds around him. His eyes had gone crimson sometime around finger number one.

“Thileth,” Scott lisped around too many teeth. He meant it as a warning, but it came out as a rumbling plea.

“Yeah, okay, buddy. I got you,” Stiles cooed. As much fun as it was taking Scott apart, they really couldn’t risk making him wolf out. Not here, anyway. Sometimes it took Scott awhile to dewolf after an orgasm, which is a lesson they learned the hard way one night when an unamused Derek came back unexpectedly to claim his formerly vacant loft. It was sort of like someone had tipped him off to its new use as a loveshack, but that was neither here nor there.

Stiles wiggled his fingers until he found Scott’s prostate with practiced ease, and he stroked it only a few times. Scott made a pained gasping sound, and then he was cumming hard. His walls clenched around Stiles’s fingers as the orgasm engulfed his senses. Stiles stroked him through it with one hand stripping Scott’s dick and the other one three fingers deep inside him, drawing whimpering shudders from Scott’s spent body. After a few seconds, Scott’s knees gave way, and he collapsed backward onto Stiles, sending them both to the floor. Stiles kept a steady arm around Scott’s waist, but he couldn’t hold them both up for much longer.

“Good grief, Scott,” Stiles chuckled as he pressed a kiss to Scott’s temple. “Look what you did to the wall.”

Opening his eyes felt like the last thing Scott wanted to do right then. Stiles was warm, and the air smelled like sex and  _them_  and who cared if they were on a gross public bathroom floor? Scott could find a way to live the rest of his life within these four walls, as long as Stiles was there to give him plenty of nice orgasms. Curiosity won out, though, and Scott pried his eyes open to see what Stiles was talking about.

“Oops,” he mumbled. There were claw marks and cum on the wall. A lot of cum. And the claw marks were really deep. Scott couldn’t even remember when his claws came out. “We gotta…gotta clean that.” He slumped back against Stiles and let his head loll against Stiles’s shoulder as he scratched at Stiles’s dried cum still on his belly. Scott sighed happily and considered curling up right where he was.

Stiles huffed. “Oh, no. You are not going to just take a  _nap_. And as much as I love you, I can’t carry you out of here. You have to get off me.”

“Nnnnn.”

“But you’re lying on my sunburn,” Stiles groused.

“Oh, well, in that case.” With a monumental effort, and on legs that felt as shaky as a newborn fawn’s, Scott dragged himself to his feet. He helped Stiles up, and they washed up in the stall’s sink before pulling their shorts back on. They even attempted to get all of Scott’s cum off the wall, but he could still smell it, which didn’t bother him as much as it should have. There was nothing they could do about the claw marks, though. A pleasant wave of sentiment hit Scott as he realized this gross public bathroom stall was going to be one of their “places to remember.”

Before they left, Scott handed Stiles the neglected t-shirt he’d brought with him. Stiles took it with gratitude.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry about pushing you in the pool last week.”

Scott shrugged. “We’re even, so don’t worry about it.”

“Good, because I’m not really sorry,” Stiles said as he put on the shirt.

“Whatever you say, Ariel,” Scott replied.

They clumsily exited the stall together just as an older man made his way into the bathroom. He could only stare as Scott gave him a friendly wave on their way out.

***

By the time they wandered back down the beach to rejoin the pack, evening crept along the horizon. Their group were some of the last few people left. A chilly breeze blew in from the ocean, forcing everyone into long sleeves and cover-ups. Scott, being the most naked of all, made a beeline for the hoodie he had stashed in his bag.

“I’m hungry,” Stiles announced unceremoniously. Everyone had already packed up most of their belongings. There was still some food out, but it was obvious all the good stuff was gone. The only food left was cold hot dogs that needed reheating, and no one felt like firing up a grill for that.

“That’s what happens when you spend two hours messing around,” Lydia sing-songed as she and Kira packed the cooler.

“Two hours?” Stiles asked. “Nah, what we did only took 15  minutes, tops. We spent the rest of the time taking a lovely walk along the beach. We held hands; it was beautiful.”

“Ew,” Liam grumbled.

Malia stood and patted Stiles’s shoulder. “Sorry, I ate your burger. It was so good.” Then she leaned in and sniffed Stiles’s neck. She got a faraway look in her eyes. “In a public bathroom. Really?”

“Who knew Scott had an exhibitionist’s streak in him?” Stiles said proudly.

“Hey, do you guys mind?” Scott fought valiantly to not blush. The ride back with Liam in the Jeep was already going to be awkward enough.

Mason, sensing some weirdness he’d have to ask Liam about later, jumped up with way more enthusiasm than he needed to. “We should probably get going. The drive back home is gonna take a couple of hours, and I don’t want to hear my mom yelling at me about breaking curfew.”

“Great idea,” Scott said, silently thanking Mason for the life line. “We’ll just grab some food on the way.” He shot Stiles a pointed look before the “eating out” joke could pass his lips. Stiles winked and went to help Kira and Lydia with the cooler. And by help, he pretty much just grabbed a few bags of chips and leftover sodas for the road.

Scott watched his packmates gather their things and make snide comments about Stiles’s new clam shell bra that were so good that even Stiles had to laugh at them. Scott tried not to get sentimental. But it was hard when he could feel their contentment wrapping around him like a cozy, well-loved blanket. He let himself indulge in the warmth for a moment, then he joined everyone on the trek to the parking lot.

Sidling up next to him, Stiles slung an arm around Scott’s shoulder. “Ow. That hurt.”

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll slather you in all the aloe you could ask for when we get home,” Scott promised.

“You better. No more pain drains, though. I know what they do to you.”

“Okay,” Scott said rather noncommittally.

With a quick peck on the lips and a totally unnecessary hair ruffle that left Scott’s hair a mess, Stiles hurried ahead to help load the Jeep.

Scott rarely found himself faced with what he would call “perfect opportunities.” They were few and far between and almost always short lived. But the universe had a way of balancing the bad with the good.

Everything might go to hell tomorrow, but today? Today was a good day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I considered naming this fic "Butthole Surfers" like the band, but that seemed a little too on the nose.
> 
> Previously posted at seriousshit88.tumblr.com


End file.
